


[OCxOC] An Unexpected Boon

by Rotting_Corpseflesh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Affection as Violence, Cunnilingus, Enemies as lovers, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Non-Con, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, dubiously consensual oral sex, violence as affection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 18:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotting_Corpseflesh/pseuds/Rotting_Corpseflesh
Summary: Brian and Taylor have been professional rivals in the the field of doing their respective employers' dirty work for nearly twenty years now. They've also had a deeply personal and occasionally violent non-professional enmity for quite a bit longer. Which is fine by their employers' standards, as they hate each other as well.But now Brian has found himself in a bit of a pickle, tied up in the basement of an empty house that happens to belong to Taylor's boss (through several shell corporations), and Taylor happens to find him there, trussed up like a lamb before the slaughter. What happens next surprises both of them, but maybe shouldn't have.





	1. Chapter 1

Brian can no longer remember how long he’s been down there when he realizes he is not alone any longer. He can’t tell day from night anymore- it’s been at least a week. He should have never taken this job, he thinks bitterly. He's going to die down here. It may take awhile, but it's clear by now that his employer is never going to send someone to get him out of here, or if she already has, they're never going to find him in time.

Someone keeps bringing him food and water- he hardly ever sees them, but whenever he wakes from another nightmare, the phantom scent of smoke burning in his nostrils, there’s more food waiting for him. He wishes he hadn't tried to escape last- well, he doesn't know if it was last night or last week. It doesn't feel like long ago, doesn't feel like it's been more than a day, but he has no way of tracking time, and he's been unconscious for quite awhile.

Brian’s mouth feels dry, but his head feels clear under the pounding. He’s been drugged for sure, but it’s worn off now. He groans around the gag in his mouth, wishing he could rub his aching skull, but apparently his last little stunt has made his captors become more careful with him. They drugged him, and they also tied his hands behind the support beam so he can't so much as stand. The gag is new, too.

He’s been drugged before- it’s hard to avoid, in his line of work- and it always leaves him with an awful headache.

He can’t see anything, still, but he can _feel_ it. A presence. It’s more than the sound of shoes on the unpleasantly damp concrete- he could feel someone else in there before he could hear them. His heart leaps, soars. Has rescue come at last? He’d almost given up. But then his hopes are dashed as soon as recognition flares at the sound of those footsteps, and it’s not a stranger at all.

“Oh?” The sound rings out in the quiet of the basement, a spark of light in the dark of the dank concrete and oppressive gloom. Except there’s nothing good about it, only bright and piercing, because it’s followed by a laugh filled with cruel mirth. A literal light flickers on, dim and dull, but enough to see by. Its feeble glow feels like iron nails being driven into Brian’s eyes after so long in the dark, and he squints, trying to adjust to even this meager brightness.

Footsteps, measured and even, coming closer to the beam where Brian is tied. He knows this voice, these footsteps. He _hates_ this voice, these footsteps. “Well, now- what do we have here?” The voice asks, and Brian knew it was Taylor before he could see him, before he even spoke.

He’s changed, Brian thinks, as Taylor steps into his line of sight. He doesn’t look like he used to. Oh, his face is still the same, and clearly so is his abominable personality, but so much else is different. Brian feels uneasy. He doesn’t like this change in Taylor. When it comes to a monster like this man, Brian would much prefer to know what he’s dealing with.

He’s still wearing the same dark wire-rimmed glasses as always, but he’s grown his hair out. It’s long now, and drawn back in a ponytail, his temples are starting to go gray. It strangely bothers him, seeing Taylor’s hair long when he used to be so rigorous in keeping it short. Brian wonders what else has changed, that Taylor is now comfortable enough to let his hair grow.

Something in Brian’s brain itches to reach out and yank that shiny chestnut ponytail until the hairs start ripping out of Taylor’s scalp. He bites down on the gag stuffed in his mouth instead.

In contrast, Brian suspects he must look much the same as he did the last time Taylor saw him, despite several years having passed since then. Still got the same russet brown, weather-beaten skin, the same razor cut black hair. The same broken nose healed crooked. He even dresses the same. Rough yellow-brown sweater with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows, olive green scarf around his neck, thick denim jeans. Black boots laced halfway to his knees.

In contrast, Taylor’s dressed fancier, like an upscale hippie-vibe art teacher at a private school. Light gray dress pants, white button up, top three buttons undone so Brian can just see the collar of the white t shirt he’s wearing underneath. There’s no tie, but he _is_ wearing a waistcoat-style vest, unbuttoned.

His hands are in his pockets as he saunters over. Brian yanks on his restraints, praying for the rope to give way. “Oh, Brian, dear me- got yourself all trussed up like a little present for me?” Taylor coos condescendingly, pulling the gag out of his enemy’s mouth, and Brian spits at him.

If nothing else, a distant part of him thinks, at least Taylor still _sounds_ the same. That even tenor is exactly as it always was. Brian wishes he could stand, wishes he could tear Taylor’s throat out with his teeth. He pulls again at the rope, twisting his wrists in a desperate bid to get free.

“Go to hell,” he snarls, and tries to jerk away when Taylor’s hand cups the side of his face, thumb running over his lower lip almost lovingly. The way it lingers there is dangerous. It feels almost affectionate, but Brian reminds himself that Taylor isn’t capable of feeling anything so soft as affection.

He tries to bite the other man’s hand, but Taylor’s too fast for him. Brian’s teeth snap on air as Taylor wrenches his hand away and then brings it back in a slap that sends Brian’s head spinning.

The bound man gasps for breath, all the air driven out of his lungs, and Taylor laughs again. “Still such an awful little brat? Tsk, tsk,” he purrs. “We’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?”

And then Taylor grins- a shark’s grin, a predator’s grin, and he has a gleam in his eye that makes Brian’s blood turn to ice. His hand is back on Brian’s jaw, wrenching open his mouth, tight enough Brian thinks his jaw might break, and the dark haired man has a sick premonition bubbling in his stomach.

“Such a pretty mouth,” Taylor says, still wearing that horrible mockery of a smile, his other hand undoing his belt. “A pity it belongs to a dog with no manners. We’ll just have to do something about that. What do you say, Brian?”

Brian’s heart leaps into his throat. They’ve played chicken with this thing between them for years, but until now, neither one of them has stepped up to the plate when it came to doing lasting harm to the other. Taylor seems intent on changing that, though, Brian thinks. He works harder at his restraints. He can’t be vulnerable in Taylor’s presence.

The brown-haired man is busy removing his belt, wrapping it around Brian’s neck, and the bound man has to think fast. He can’t escape, so he lunges forward. Taylor’s pants have slipped just a little down his thighs without the belt to support them, and Brian takes advantage of the newly exposed flesh. Seems Taylor goes commando. It works to the dark-haired man’s favor.

“If you bite me, I’m going to rip out every last one of your teeth,” Taylor hisses, taking a sharp step back as Brian’s teeth graze his skin, but Brian follows. He doesn’t bite.

Instead, he leans in and _licks,_ tongue against fabric, and the startled sound that tears its way out of Taylor’s mouth is enough to send a flare of victory shooting through Brian’s heart. Enough to make Taylor’s hands drop from the belt he’s got wrapped around Brian’s throat.

“What do you think you’re-” Taylor’s shocked, disbelieving cry is cut off as Brian presses in closer, shoves Taylor’s pants down just a little bit farther, and ventures in again with his tongue, this time making contact with flesh. The taller man can only gasp, too startled even to back away. Completely at a loss for what to do.

It’s been so _long_ since Brian had the upper hand in their game of cat and mouse. He wants to savor this. So he licks again, and sucks, and grazes sensitive flesh with his teeth, just a warning of what he could do, and Taylor gasps, his hands now clutching the support beam, holding the long-haired man up as his legs threaten to give out.

Brian smiles viciously against Taylor’s body, and whispers, “Finally found a way to shut you up, hm?” as his tongue finds the taller man’s clit and sucks hard. Taylor all but wails, one hand leaving the steel column to muffle the noises coming out of his own mouth. It’s enough of a distraction that Taylor doesn’t notice Brian’s gotten his hands free, doesn’t notice until the raven haired man has his hips in a bruising vice grip.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wanted to take you apart for so long. Never thought of doing it this way, but whatever works,” he pants, voice ragged, into Taylor’s slit as the other man struggles to hold himself up. “Wanted to make you scream. Make you beg.”

The shock has clearly worn off for Taylor, enough for his eyes to clear and look down in horror to see that Brian’s hands are free. He tries to take a step back, but the grip on his hips won’t allow him to move. Brian laves at the dripping entrance in front of him, licking a thick stripe up and sucking on Taylor’s clit. The other man’s breath hitches. Brian can almost see Taylor’s mind racing, the wheels and cogs spinning and spinning, trying to make sense of what’s happening. But even as his mind struggles to catch up, his body is responding in perfect time.

His pale face is twisted, like he can’t decide whether he wants to push Brian away and strangle him for this, or pull him closer.

“Do you think I can make you scream like this? Make you beg?” He pulls away enough to look into Taylor’s terrified gray eyes, wide behind his wire framed spectacles, pupils blown in something between fear and arousal. Perhaps even both.

Taylor’s voice shakes, wobbles. “Disgusting,” he chokes out. “You really are a dog, aren’t you? No self-control.”

But Brian bites at his pale thigh, and Taylor keens.

And then Brian laughs, voice low, dangerous. Soft and threatening. “Oh?” He smiles, all teeth, against Taylor’s skin. “Do you want me to stop? I was going to turn you into a crying, screaming mess, and you would thank me for it, but if you’d rather I stopped...” He presses a kiss into the juncture of Taylor’s thigh and hip, so close to where the man standing over him needs it, but deliberately out of reach. Taylor trembles above him.

“Fuck you,” Taylor chokes out, voice strained, face flushed. He moves sharply, as if to shove Brian away and walk out of the dark basement and leave, but then seems to think of something better. “Fuck you,” he hisses, and tangles his fingers in Brian’s hair, shoves the darker-skinned man’s face into his cunt.

Brian smiles into Taylor’s slit. “I thought I already was.”

One of his hands leaves Taylor’s hip and snakes its way to the tall man’s entrance. Nimble fingers trace the folds there, the inner lips of Taylor’s flushed sex. Teasing. Never quite slipping in, and all the while, Brian’s pulled his mouth away, stopping all other ministrations. With a desperate growl, Taylor’s hands tighten their hold on onyx locks and force Brian’s face where he wants him. “Then hurry up and fuck me,” the brown haired man snarls, glasses slipping down his nose.

The sound that comes out of Taylor’s mouth when Brian’s mouth seals around his clit and sucks is music ears. The gentle gasps and cries spilling from the other man’s mouth only amplify when Brian’s fingers slip inside his sex and go to work.

It isn’t long before Brian has him panting and muffling screams into his fist, pale fingers tangling in raven locks. He can feel Taylor tightening around him, feel the building orgasm as he licks and sucks and curls his fingers in time to a secret rhythm.

With a sharp cry, Taylor comes around Brian’s fingers, on his face, and sags against the metal beam, breathing hard, eyes unfocused. Brian leans back too, panting, suddenly aware of his own burning need pressing a hard line into the fabric of his jeans. It’s too much, too little- it hurts. He wants desperately to touch himself, to alleviate the agony of being too hard too long with no friction. But he won’t, not while Taylor’s here, not when he’s only just gotten the upper hand in their game of cat and mouse. He can’t show vulnerability where Taylor can see it.

The other man slides to the floor beside him, breath still coming in pants, eyes clearer but still hazy. And then he looks over, seeing the condition Brian is is, and laughs. Great, heaving laughter that wracks his whole body. Brian opens his mouth to say something cutting and nasty when Taylor moves in, fast as a snake. One hand gripping Brian’s jaw, the other unbuttoning Brian’s jeans, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his aching cock.

“It seems only one of us got what he needed,” Taylor crows, vicious in his mirth. “Looks like you’ve had to go without.”

Brian keens at the sensation of fingers wrapping around his painful erection, hips involuntarily bucking into Taylor’s hand. A mistake. Taylor gives a cruel smile and squeezes, making Brian all but scream as his too-sensitive cock is crushed in Taylor’s vice-like grip.

Tears sting at Brian’s eyes, threaten to spill over. He’s breathing hard, struggling not to cry as Taylor runs his fingers in a crushing grip up and down his throbbing member. It's too tight, too dry. It hurts more than it alleviates the ache. And just when Brian thinks he can take no more, that he'll break and cry and scream, Taylor's moving in a much different manner.

**Author's Note:**

> look i know ao3 doesn't TECHNICALLY allow original fiction, but this is. kind of still technically a transformative work??? like, it's non-canon to the actual story, and is mostly an excuse to explore the dynamic between brian and taylor in an isolated setting divorced from the story itself, and also an excuse for porn


End file.
